Welcome to England

A sultry fog licks along the road as I walk. It kisses my shins and dances away, resettling itself as I pass by the shops not yet open for business. It's early, and we have a big day ahead of us so I take my tea and egg on toast at little corner table of an outdoor cafe before we go. There are bakeries waiting for me after all, and the cultural experiences here know no bounds. Everything seems to taste so much more authentic. In fact, for some reason, everything seems more 'real' here. Perhaps it's just what happens when you go to a new place. You are alive and aware in a new way, and your senses are on overdrive.

As I sit and wait, I’m also aware of a pace that doesn't exist in America. “Life moves slower here” I think, and then correct myself knowing that's not exactly it. The sense of panic to be somewhere is missing. As if everything will happen in it's own time and everyone is perfectly happy with that arrangement. Living, as opposed to just doing, is more important here it seems.

Everything smells misty and green and wet. I'm completely romanced by it all. The architecture is amazing and I can not believe the detailing in some of the arches and windows. The day before we'd been to the Canterbury Cathedral. It amazed me in it's age and grace, and in being real. The crypts below were ominous...almost foreboding; and yet a curiosity you couldn't contain beckons you into the dark to see the resting places of those from long ago. Their armor or honor on plaques and tombs, while whispered breezes down long corridors brought images of medieval company, peering at themselves over your shoulder. The stained glass takes your breath away and turns the sunlight into a rainbow colored dream floating over the pews. Even the paths on the grounds induce you to wandering, searching out magic places and fairy rings. I wrapped my arms around a tree that was older than any ancestor I could trace and wondered what stories it would tell if could whisper in my ear.